


in which Harry just goes along with it honestly

by Anna_Hopkins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Everyone looks on in horror, Gen, Harry gets Adopted, Hogwarts Fifth Year, I am reliably informed that "Voldemort with a gun" is a beautiful plot in and of itself, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Voldemort has a gun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29325894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/pseuds/Anna_Hopkins
Summary: Harry's miserable summer takes a turn for the - worse? Is it worse? It's probablysupposedto be - when he gets an unexpected houseguest.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Voldemort
Comments: 35
Kudos: 181





	in which Harry just goes along with it honestly

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the ridiculous fic outline I found in a notebook from 2019, and I for once could not bear to write it as crack-treated-seriously, so please enjoy lol
> 
> Livewritten 2021-02-09 overnight and posted without proper editing (edit 2021-02-25: with a little editing)

It was the middle of July and it was miserably hot and the Dursleys were only letting Harry in the rest of the house to clean (and hogging all the fans in the living room). He wished he still had the shirt that had got holes burnt in it by cleaning chemicals last summer, because at least that one was ventilated, but this was a newer castoff from Dudley's brief goffik phase, so it was black, and a bit tight by Harry's cousin's standards, which meant it unfortunately wasn't as baggy as the other ones were.

So in short he was sweating miserably, between the heat of the oven (Dudley was off-diet and wanted cupcakes) and the steam from the sink full of dishes he was currently washing - which meant when someone knocked really loud on the front door, he was dashing out to the comparatively-pleasant front hall before his Aunt even shouted at him to answer it.

He opened the door, mopping sweat from his forehead. Then he was frozen in terror - not literally, though, which was too bad - as he locked eyes with the visitor.

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Voldemort warmly in his high, cold voice. "Are your relatives home?"

He didn't wait for an answer, only swept past Harry and into the house like he owned the place and went right for the living room, a disturbingly pleasant smile on his snake face. Harry recovered from his shock in time to dash after him, stopping right in the doorway as the Dursleys finally turned to look at the interloper.

"Who're you-" Uncle Vernon started, then blanched - because Voldemort had just pulled out a Tommy Gun (heh) from inside the jacket of the Muggle suit he was wearing, and aimed it at Harry's uncle's walrus face.

"Hello, Dursleys," the Dark Lord laughed his iconic mad laugh as the three cowered behind their still-blowing box fans, as if that would do anything to help them. Harry made to get in front of him, to do something - anything - to stop Voldemort from killing yet another set of family members, but somehow he only succeeded in peeking out from behind Voldemort's jacket like the man were protecting _him._

"W-what d'you want from us?" Vernon blubbered, shaking. Harry should have known his relatives would respond best to overwhelming firepower; after all, Vernon had been equally cowed back when Hagrid busted up that rifle he'd bought before Harry's first year...

Voldemort grinned. "Oh, I'm just kidnapping Harry. Rescuing, more like, from the look of him, but that's for the historical revisionists to decide, you understand." He shrugged, aim steady, and without turning his head, hissed to Harry, _"Go get your stuff, we're leaving."_

They were? "Erm, most of my stuff's in my cupboard," he said in English, "and it's locked." This was probably some kind of heatstroke-induced fever dream; he could just go along with it.

Voldemort took something out of his pocket with the hand he wasn't using to hold the gun. (Harry was pretty sure you were supposed to use two hands to hold big guns like that, but he'd only seen them on the telly, what did he know?) "Here, use this," he said, holding out a - sledgehammer.

Harry took it. Blinked at it. Said, "All right then. Are you going to shoot them up while I'm gone?"

"You're not going to ask me _not_ to, are you?" Voldemort sneered.

"No," Harry shrugged, leaning on the hammer like it was a cane. "That would be a waste, you've obviously made up your mind."

"Yep," the Dark Lord popped the 'p'.

Harry considered his next words very carefully. Which was to say, he blurted out, "If you're going to kill them, at least let me watch?"

Voldemort actually turned to look at him then, and he was beaming. (It was a pretty scary look for him, all things considered.) "Atta boy," he laughed.

And pulled the trigger.

A rain of bullets poured from the gun like fire, ridiculously loud in the enclosed room - Harry covered his ears too late to avoid the ringing - tearing up the walls and furniture like in action films. The Dursleys' screams were drowned out by the gunfire, and they splattered on the walls like - Harry actually didn't have an analogy for it, but it was hella gory. Luckily he wouldn't have to clean it up.

Voldemort kept firing until he ran out of bullets, and that took a while - he shredded the drapes, broke some windows, turned the telly into a mass of broken glass and plastic, shattered Aunt Petunia's favorite vase, and made holes in the far wall in the shape of a V. When he was done, he turned to Harry, and pointed at the hammer, then made a "go on" hand gesture.

Harry smashed the cupboard door open for his trunk, smashed the upstairs door open for his food stash and the little things he'd managed to keep with him, took the cupcakes out of the oven to cool, and realized only then that he was laughing.

 _Come on,_ Voldemort mouthed, nodding at the flashing lights outside that were getting steadily closer. He'd put the gun away by now, in favor of stealing the silverware and Aunt Petunia's jewelry box from upstairs. _Let's go._ He held out an eerily pale hand.

Harry saw lights flashing down the street and knew someone had phoned 999 - it would've been weirder if they hadn't. He made sure he had his wand in his pocket, and his trunk in his other hand, and then reached out to take it.

July 17, 1995.

Dear Hermione,

Took me a bit to reply to your last letter, sorry! Summer's going well. Really well, even.

Anyway, I sent an invitation along with this, RSVP to my new address. Cheers!

Love,

Harry J. Riddle

Riddle House, Little Hangleton, England

P.S. I got adopted! You'll never guess who.

Hermione stared down at the fancy lettering of the enclosed invitation. She and Ron had each got one, and so had Sirius. Or, part of it was lettered fancy. Harry's familiar messy handwriting filled in the blanks left in the form.

_You are [] cordially [] reluctantly [] warmly [x] super  invited to: _

_ Harry's Birthday Party   
_

_at_

_ Riddle House, Little Hangleton   
_

_on_

_ July 31st, 1995  _

_from sunset  to  sunrise the next day   
_

_Refreshments will be served. The dress code is [] casual [] semi-formal [] black tie [] white tie [x]_ _ optional  _

_Guests are welcome to bring a plus-one._

_RSVP by_ _July 30th_ _.   
_

Ron turned his invitation over. "Bloody hell, the Weird Sisters are playing this gig!"

"Oh _shit,"_ Sirius blurted, wide-eyed, as he read the list. "This lineup's amazing! REMUS!" he shouted across the house, "THEY GOT OZZY! I THOUGHT YOU SAID HE WASN'T IN SABBATH ANYMORE!"

"HE ISN'T," Remus shouted back.

Hermione reread the letter, feeling like she was missing something. "Wasn't the Order supposed to get Harry from his relatives this week?" she wondered aloud.

But no one heard her.

Harry's birthday party was better described as a birthday _festival._ "Holy shit," Ron shouted over the noise of the crowds surrounding Riddle House, whose hillside front lawn was currently host to a massive concert stage, pyrotechnics and all. "Like half the school's here!"

"Where's Harry?" Hermione shouted back, squinting against the bright flashing lights.

Sirius and Remus had already made their way to the open bar - Dumbledore had discouraged them from attending, but nobody at the party seemed to give a damn, if they could even recognize the two wizards under all the costuming and makeup. (Sirius' gaunt features looked a lot cooler accentuated by the face paint.) Hermione led Ron around the majority of the crowd and up to the house, showing the invitations to a pair of security wizards - "super" was the VIP level, Harry had explained in another letter after getting her RSVP - to go in and look for their friend.

The inside of the house was larger than the outside, which Ron winced when he noticed - "It's not a done thing anymore, 'Mione" - and a lot quieter, with the subtle increase in air pressure of many silencing charms layered at once. Hermione decided, roaming the first floor, that she didn't like it, and Ron agreed. "It's just _ominous,"_ she whispered, shivering.

Harry, when they found him, didn't seem to notice. "Hey!" their friend beamed, enveloping Ron and Hermione in a big hug. "You guys made it!" He was bouncing on his heels, grinning more widely than they'd seen in ages. "C'mon, let's get to the roof before the fireworks start. There's a great viewing platform-"

He led them in a rush up two flights of stairs, down a short corridor, and through what looked like someone's office? The scene gave Hermione pause: people in the security wizards' black robes were lounging on chairs smoking hookah, silvery skull masks pushed up to get at the pipes-

"Harry, are those _Death Eaters?"_ she asked in a harsh whisper, alarm bells ringing in her mind.

"What? Probably," Harry brushed it off, "anyway, my room is past that door," he led them onward without stopping, up another, spiral staircase to a room on (Hermione assumed) the top floor of the house. "-got a pile of presents taller than I am," their friend laughed, pointing at what was indeed an impressive pyramid of wrapped boxes, all of them wrapped in black paper with silver skulls and green snakes printed on it. "It's ridiculous, but I love it, you know?"

"Harry," Hermione started to say-

But Harry just plain wasn't listening, opening a door onto one more flight of stairs that - from the sound of bass thumping through - led to the roof, just like he'd said. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, concern for him only growing, as their friend rushed up the stairs and threw open the door, letting the sound of the concert in, with a shout back to them to "Come on! It's starting anytime now!"

The rooftop balcony they emerged onto was, objectively, gorgeous; but what little Hermione could glimpse of it amidst flashing lights was unimportant compared to the identity of the figure standing in the middle of the plaza already. Tall and sinister, more like a snake than a man, with red eyes that glowed in the night: this could only be Lord Voldemort, and the Dark Lord was turning now to look at them-

-and throwing his arms open for Harry to leap into, then spinning him around in a hug? _What?_

"Whooo!" Harry shouted when he was set back down on the ground. "This party is awesome!"

"I gather you're enjoying it, then," said Voldemort, smiling. (Voldemort looked terrifying when he smiled, if you asked Hermione.)

"Hell yeah!" Harry punched the air. "Thanks, Dad!"

Ron chose that moment to faint.

The Ministry was still pretending Voldemort wasn't back even though half of the adults invited to Harry's three-day (extended) birthday festival worked there, which was highly convenient and reeked of bribery, but Harry didn't mind it since it meant that he was seen off at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters by a cohort of his dad's best (read: sanest) henchmen, and Voldemort himself, who was clearly trying to one-up Lucius Malfoy's snake cane with Nagini, a twelve-foot, actual snake.

 _"-and write at least twice a week, you know how he gets when he's out of the loop,"_ she was reminding Harry, tongue flickering out to brush the end of his nose. _"Send messages along through your yearmate if Severus gets feisty, but you can Cruciate him a little if you want too, it always keeps him in line-"_

 _"Yes, Mum,"_ Harry hissed back dutifully, sending Voldemort a pleading look. The Dark Lord rolled his eyes and booped Nagini on the nose to distract her from her nagging, producing a large squirming rabbit from his sleeve for her to snap up instead. (The platform of bystanders looked on in horror.)

"Should I.. _actually_ Cruciate him?" Harry asked Voldemort in an undertone. "I thought that was illegal."

"Who's he going to complain to, really?" Voldemort was trying and failing to suppress an evil grin. (If he looked _too_ evil people might suspect him of something criminal, like being a Dark Lord.) "Magical Britain has extremely lax workplace regulations. The Potioneers' Guild has been trying to pass basic quality control on cauldrons for years."

"Oh, all right then," Harry shrugged, hefting his trunk up to go board the train. "Well, see you 'round Christmas hols, I guess?"

"Halloween break," Voldemort corrected, "we have a religious exemption." He ruffled Harry's hair, a smaller smile on his face. "Have a good term, Harry."

Harry beamed at him, and headed for the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be more of this crackfic what do you guys think? 
> 
> Pester me in my server: https://discord.gg/Z8gagVQsSM
> 
> I also drew fanart for this chapter - based on a photo from google images :p


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